Like the legend of the Phoenix, our ends

Like the legend of the Phoenix, our ends were beginnings.

The End. He dropped the mike and went off stage. We all looked at each other dumb-founded. That was it? Someone in the back yelled "Encore!" and was immediately pummeled.

Crushed, tears streaking down his peculiarly proportioned face, he ran out the backstage door & into a manhole. This dark place was where he belonged, a place he lived for 47 years

eating only mice and gruel. Never again would he venture to the world above. Not when he had the alligators and the slime-caked walls for company. He cursed the theatre

above for the loud curtain calls that rattled his otherwise stable gator sewermates, costing him ~3 toes. He plugged the alligators' ears with slime, but oh how they missed music.

But the Pied Piper's music was magical. They could hear it anyways. He played supernatural songs. They echoed in the sewers and the alligators slowly crawled towards the Piper's

Alley. The shops there sold records, posters, drug paraphenelia and more. In 2016, Piper's Alley was replaced by a spice shop. You can smell these volicipitous cooking treasures a

league away. Behind Piper's Alley there is a desire path for those who couldn't take the proper way for whatever the reason they got. That path will always be there no matter what.

Wait.. if the path is always there no matter what, couldn't I just go on any path I want and come back to this one later?